


Memories of the Surface

by ArgentDandelion



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Before Human-Monster War, Child Murder, Fiction, Gen, Heavy Angst, Laughter, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad, Time Skips, Trauma, Veterans, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentDandelion/pseuds/ArgentDandelion
Summary: Gerson looks back on his long life, his memories of the Surface, and all the friendships and trauma made under a world lit by the sun.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. One Hit Between Friends

It was a lovely late summer day: warm, sunny, and cloudless. A quiet, peaceful day...were it not for the laughter and bustling and scuffling of the children playing in the little garden of the town.

Within the town, between the homes of humans and monsters, lay a small woodland. Children gathered to talk and eat at its long, wooden benches. They also played games together: hopscotch, jump rope, catch, and marbles, and things they had simply made up.

A young turtle sat down on a bench. Already, his friends were discussing something. As the bunny monster and human talked away, barely even noticing him, the turtle monster pulled out a sandwich.

“Lettuce and radish sandwich again?” Gerson muttered. He shook his head. _I’m gonna tell her to stop packing those._

Suddenly, the background of jump rope rhymes stopped. “Hey! No cheating!” Gerson glanced at the shout: a Whimsun hovered in place between the oscillating ropes. “You gotta jump! You can’t just fly!”

Gerson laughed. _Poor little Whimsun, already looking at the verge of tears from something so small._

A fresh memory came unbidden...

“ _Be kind. Never give them a reason to hate you, and you'll be safe.”_

_"What if they hit me, but don't hate me? Wouldn't that hurt too?"_

_"We are the safest of all monsters. Always remember that, dear."_

“Hey, Gerson! Watch this!”

The bunny monster prepared a spiky bubble of magic, aimed at a carefully-placed chunk of moldering firewood...and blasted it to smithereens.

"Wow! That's such cool magic!" Abelai gushed. _Cool, yes. But not very practical to use so much magic..._ Gerson thought.

"I think, when you’re a grown-up, you could blast the enemies to smithereens!" the human girl said, leaning in with her enthusiasm.

“I...uh...enemies are just friends you haven't made yet!" the bunny monster said sheepishly. Abelai’s donkey-like wheeze drowned out Gerson’s own chuckle.

“You're so friendly. I guess you wouldn't be fit for the army, even if you are strong.”

"Really? You've never seen a nice solider before?” the bunny asked.

Abelai’s mouth rumpled. “It's not a matter of 'niceness'. It's a matter of bravery and duty.”

“And having enemies to fight! Haha!” Gerson said, butting in.

“Y-yeah. Not r-really a point, ‘cause everything’s peaceful.” the bunny replied, nervously tapping his hands together.

Abelai paused, a hand to her chin in a comical imitation of an old scholar. In that break in the conversation, Gerson could faintly hear the discussion at the other table. It sounded like two boys muttering, with one exclaiming “beat all the bad guys!” 

"Are...monsters even allowed in the army?” Abelai asked. “I've never seen monsters in the parades or around the barracks."

Gerson and the bunny were quiet. After the pause, Abelai continued. "It doesn't make any sense. I mean, they let mages in, so why not monsters?"

_She doesn't know...she really doesn't know why monsters aren't in the army._

The two boys at the other table were talking louder. Gerson couldn’t make it out, but it was something about “dad” and “bad guys”. _Ugh, I’m trying to have a conversation_.

“Do you know, Gerson?”

Gerson turned suddenly to Abelai, as if nothing was wrong. Some boy had just said “Watch this!”. 

"It's probably 'cause monsters would put the mages out of a job! Hahaha!” Gerson said, laughing.

He heard a hiss by his side. A boy, a human boy, was standing beside him. In an instant, Gerson scanned him over: he had messy black hair, a stern frown and wide eyes that crinkled around the edges. His hands hung limply by his sides, clenched into fists. _He’s_ _just...pretending to be angry?_

The boy’s mouth opened and closed, fish-like. Gerson tilted his head. "What are you doing? Looking for someone to punch?"

 _Thwack_.

In an instant, half his vision went dark as he was knocked back onto his shell. Suddenly, he heard scuffling footsteps. Someone was running away. 

Gerson dug his claws into the table and straightened up. He put a hand to his right eye, an eye that felt hot and swollen. Blinking away tears, he looked back at his assailant through his untouched eye.

The black-haired boy...he was still there, his uncoiling hand frozen in the air. His face sported a wide-eyed look, his slightly open mouth showing fang-like teeth. The boy’s brow twitched as Gerson stared him down.

He looked...startled?

_Surprised I didn't run away? Or are you surprised I didn't die in one hit?_

The boy frowned again, harder, and once more clenched his fist.

Gerson’s hands slid slowly down, as he casually laid them on the bench seating. His tears streamed down his face...and he laughed.

"Wa ha ha! What's one hit between friends?"

The pain radiated through his face again, pulsing, thudding.

The pain radiated through his chest, and the boy hissed as his fist hit the hard plastron.

A hit. A hit. Another hit...

_"We are the safest of all monsters...never give them a reason to hate you."_

_His mother had looked all strange then, with big eyes and a crooked smile._

_Why? Why?_

Gerson heard a yelp. The seconds passed, and no punches landed again.

Gerson covered his right eye with a hand and wiped away his tears. There were two human women in front of him, one gripping his attacker’s shoulders with a look of disdain. _One of them looks familiar...is it Abelai’s mother?_

His attacker looked at his fists to find them covered in a red crust. The park was silent, the children still stunned.

"Why did you do this?" One of the women said in a voice both soft and sharp. The boy still stared at his fists. A faint smoke drifted away from them in the summer breeze, as they rapidly turned purple from bruises. Suddenly his eyes went watery...and he laughed.

Gerson stood aback – the laughter was mirthless. Empty. _But it’s not funny_. 

Gerson watched one of the women briskly take the fang-toothed boy away. They passed by another table, where a brown-haired human boy looked at the goaded attacker with a flattened, unreadable expression. 

"Will you be alright?" The other woman was bending over to investigate his injuries. Gerson’s face felt wet and hot...he touched his cheek, and his hand came back bloody. 

But he could only chuckle. _Why_ ? _Why didn’t I die from all those hits? Why did he laugh? Why...why does it feel like a_ joke _?_

The woman looked startled for a second. She chewed over her lip, still looking at him in concern. _Wrong answer_. She stroked Gerson’s hair, hesitating, uncertain even after her touch, and checked over the blood smeared over the turtle monster’s shirt.

“If it wasn’t for your shell...” the woman started. Then she smiled. It was fake and didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, it's a good thing you're a turtle! Now, I'm not sure how to deal with this kind of injury, so just show me where your mother is and I'll..."

 _She’s not panicking...it’s like it’s just a scraped knee_...Gerson thought as the woman carefully moved towards the monster district.

 _She doesn't know. She really doesn't know...how easy_ _it is to_ kill _monsters._

\------

Today was... _interesting_ . Some kid had shown up in his shop, and had asked him obvious questions anyone would know while using a silly voice and wearing a funny hat. What was it? Some disguise? _Wa ha ha. Can’t fool me, kiddo_.

There were a lot of cloudy-looking glasses in the dump: seemingly endless piles in wet, moldering cardboard. _Was it a fad these days?_ Gerson wondered.

With his resupply trip done early, he decided to go back home. _I’ll take the scenic route. Why not?_ He travelled through a dark path lit with blue crystals. It was less well-trod, but one he knew well nonetheless. It was hard not to memorize it, darkness notwithstanding, with a life so long as his. His bones complained from the journey...but quietly. So quietly, after more than a thousand years...

"There is another way..." Asgore’s deep, soothing voice emanated from a side passage.

Gerson startled. In a moment, he reoriented towards the sound.

"You will not have to..."

Asgore’s voice echoed strangely within the cave walls, repeated by scraggly clusters of echo flowers. Gerson sped up. Someone was talking back...a quieter voice, one he couldn’t identify, much less make out. 

“Do not be afraid, human.” _Human._

Closer...

Gerson skidded to a stop and looked to his left. Two figures. Asgore, hunched over someone. That someone...a _human_ , their back to the entrance. They held their notebook like a weapon as their SOUL glowed purple.

Suddenly, Asgore’s trident flailed out, glowing red. He twisted it in his hands, pointing at...

 _Thunk_.

A body fell to the soft mud.

In the threshold of the room, Gerson stared back at a face full of shock. Asgore’s trident faded away.

"Gerson!"

Glowing water and a crack in the ceiling gently illuminated them all in the marshy alcove. The stream behind them quietly burbled. Masses of Echo Flowers surrounded the two, their whispers a faint buzz. The kid’s voice still carried on those flowers....

Guilt dragged the old monster’s face down. The pause stretched on too long.

"This won't work, Fluffybuns." Gerson said sternly. The king’s face fell even more. "You ain't in a good state to think it over, what with your...tendencies." Asgore turned his face away. Never had the crown seemed heavier.

Gerson moved closer to his old friend. "If you can't do it for yourself, do it for your kingdom...” Asgore’s mouth moved, preparing for an answer. “...And you _know_ that kid _sure can't_ rule in your place. The kingdom needs you."

The small body had stopped twitching, and the breathing was going unsteady.

"You better bring out the container."

"I...it is not in my inventory."

Gerson rolled his eyes. "I got one at my house, for emergencies. I'll watch over..." Another pause, another absence both refused to acknowledge. "And don't dilly-dally, Fluffybuns."

Gerson picked up his old war hammer from its place in the target’s head. It had left quite the dent: the hit site was oozing. He couldn’t help but inspect what was left behind from his deeds , lit so conspicuously by that long-awaited fourth SOUL.

 _Stripes_ . Stripes, he knew...but didn’t want to know. And in the right light, he couldn't. In the right light, he could imagine all those purple bands were just black, black to blend in with the rest of the outfit. He could imagine that liquid dripping from the...from the _kid’s_ head was _purple_ . Just something strange he had never seen before, something gently beyond his comprehension. He couldn’t see, didn’t _need to see_ the true extent of the injuries.

But the kid...the kid was _still breathing_. Faintly, ever faintly, but even after that...even after that strike...

“So. What _were_ you doing here?” Gerson muttered. _Why did I even ask? Does it matter_?

The notebook, clutched so desperately in the kid’s arms, slid down to the mud. Gerson picked it up, almost by reflex. He squinted at it in the SOUL’s purple glow. He considered bringing out a glowing attack, to boost the light, but...

 _Can’t risk it. An attack straight to the SOUL like this would waste decades of waiting_. Yes. Yes, that was his logic.

He squinted over the notebook. Its pages were filled with childish drawings of monsters, crude but recognizable. An Aaron. A Temmie _._

And him.

Something ran through his mind...a faint sound, a whisper, an echo. He tried to focus. If he made room for anything else, he’d...

In the neat little script, he saw facts: “Temmie: What are Tem Flakes? Is Human Allergy Useful?” “Aaron: Loves to flex...Must learn how to flex better.” That echo came back...

“ _Are you sure?” “I don’t want to kill anyone.”_

"Gerson: Turtle?". "Didn't try to attack. Doesn't hate humans. Useful ally? Backup plan? Looks like Spike. Good omen?"

A child’s voice seeped into his thoughts. Gerson stroked his chin thoughtfully, and turned the kid around. He could see his frown in the reflection of the kid’s huge glasses, superimposed onto the kid’s own eyes. The kid had short, messy black hair, pale skin...they looked like someone he knew, once upon a time, when even he, ol' Gerson, was young. 

"Wa ha ha..." He couldn't stop it. The body had stopped moving.

Gerson stared at the page, that crisp handwriting of the human they’d never bothered, never _wanted_ , to know. _If I had just fought back that day...would things have gone differently? Would the war have started even sooner? Would I have met ol’ Fluffybuns and Harrold?_

_Would I...have lived?_

_Doesn’t matter anymore, does it?_

But for the colors, the kid looked _nothing_ like that angry boy from long ago. _Why did I even think to compare them_?

He looked in the notebook again.

_Spike...sounds like a pet’s name..._

_The kid had a pet turtle._

“Wa ha ha...” The laugh escaped from his lips before he could stop himself. And with the dam breached...it flooded.

“Wa ha ha! _Wa ha ha_ !” His head lifted, his jaws dropped. And as he knelt on the mud, his thin, bitter laugh overflowed throughout the alcove. It rose and rose, drowning out the babbling stream, drowning out _anything else_ . The Echo Flowers discarded that nameless voice to multiply his own, and the endlessly-copied laughter surrounded him... _them,_ the corpse and the old turtle.

In the end....it was two objects. Among many other objects. Nothing meaningful. And this object... _this object_...

 _Gerson. That’s my name. ‘The Hammer of Justice’._ He felt like the laughter had carved out his throat like a river through soft mud, leaving it clogged and sore. A sense of shame dripped over the emptiness of his psyche like rain...but no tears fell.

Asgore ducked under the threshold, a soul container in hand.

“Ah, Asgore,” Gerson spoke. “You can handle this. I need to get myself a nice cup of Sea Tea."

Then he strode past the king, past the room, past the burden, without a second glance.


	2. “I’m Not a Hero."

_Clothes. Pretty fancy-looking things, too._

Gerson leaned over the big pine root: quite a tripping hazard. Strewn across it was a shirt, its thin material suggesting summer wear. Once, it would have been pretty fancy: the sort a successful merchant might have worn. But now, it was flimsy-looking, a little threadbare, a little faded.

 _Who would just leave a shirt like this out in the woods?_ Gerson thought, as he knelt to pick it up.

Dust trickled out from the collar. Gerson saw the hole in the shirt---a mere slit, right in the middle of the chest. As if it was stabbed just once...or over and over in the same spot...

Gerson let the shirt flutter to the ground. "Eh, wouldn't have fit me anyway, not with my shell."

Gerson trudged on.

**\--------**

_There's gotta be some meat somewhere...a deer somewhere...at least a big, juicy squirrel!_

Gerson scanned the pine trees. _Why are they all so scared to show up? It's not like there's a war against wild animals._

At least there wasn’t any wind chill in this late-autumn day.

 _I'm not gonna_ _return_ _to camp empty-handed. We need these supplies!_

A thatched building stood in a clearing among the pines, beside a small brook.

Gerson smiled. _Finally! An inn! But no smoke…?_

Gerson slowly pushed the door open.

_Is it the off-season for travelers? Or is the innkeeper a monster who loves the cold? Or did it..._

_...run out of business?_

He scanned the interior. Dark. No candles, no torches...just the indirect light that drifted in from the opened doorway.

Gerson raised his warhammer---just a soldier's reflex. It had never served him right...but had never served him wrong, either.

The furniture laid on the ground haphazardly. Several chairs were broken. A few looked hacked apart. Some pine needles and dried clods of mud littered the doorway. Whoever entered last sure hadn't cared to wipe their feet.

But there might still be food somewhere. Gerson took a few wary steps inside, into the cold and quiet. It looked like the village nearby. Similar wooden furniture, similar brick fireplace, similar…

The nearby village had looked like it was empty for a while.

"Dead end." Gerson said. He turned around---

And saw the wall had a dent in it, and a slight smudge of dust, right at head height.

The dust pile. By the doorway, on the floor. But no human soldiers’ bootprints at all. Gerson sniffed. It didn't _smell_ like monster dust either.

_Something’s off._

"Oh, thank goodness!"

Gerson’s bullets stopped inches from the figure’s body.

Green with yellow eyes. _Not a human._

The figure’s hands were up, his yellow eyes wide. It was a fish monster...no, amphibian. Gerson vaguely recalled they cared for the difference. “N-no n-need for th-that, friend.” The monster said, standing motionlessly.

The bullets winked out of existence, but Gerson didn’t quite lower his hammer.

"What’s your story?”

“I’m an innkeeper. Ouro’s my name.” the amphibian said. “I run...ran...this inn a few miles from the village.”

“And what's with this setup?”

"An idea of mine. If the place looks like it had already been looted and its owner dusted, no one will look too closely.”

“And the dust?”

“Just some wheat flour that had gone bad.”

Gerson stepped past Ouro and looked around. “You’ve seen any other monsters lately?” he asked.

“I haven’t seen any other monsters in...a while.” The innkeeper’s voice was creaky, like a door with a rusted-over hinge.

Gerson raised an eyebrow. No. Ouro’s voice wasn’t quite creaky. It felt disused, as if he had no reason to speak for a long time.

“Did anybody from the village show up?”

“Nobody came.” Ouro looked down. “Nobody.”

An image of the clothes in the woods flashed into Gerson’s mind. Gerson shook it off.

“A few humans took my mounts early on. I can’t get anywhere fast, so I hunkered down in the root cellar for...I don’t know how long. Are the humans gone?" The innkeeper still sounded a little strained, as if the stress had settled into his throat.

"The human army moved on ‘bout a month or so ago. Guess you’ll have to ask ol’ Prince Fluffybuns---ah, _Asgore_ \----if you want something more specific.”

“Then it should be safe,” Ouro said. “You...you think it’s safe, right?”

“Well, as safe as you can be.” Gerson shrugged. “And if you come with the monster army, at least you’ll have living shields!”

“The monster army...is it nearby?” Ouro asked.

“Yes. Not too far. We camped out early to fetch more supplies from the area.”

A big smile cracked across Ouro’s face. “If it’s supplies you want, I’ve got plenty! I was stockpiling it for any refugees from the village, but…well, there’s plenty for the soldiers!”

Gerson scratched at his goatee. “Hmm….you got any _meat?_ ”

“Plenty! I’ll give it for free! _Anything_ for some company!”

The innkeeper scrambled to open the backroom and into the root cellar, his thick boots scuffling on the floor. He returned so loaded with dried meats he looked like a cart that had learned how to stand up.

Gerson blinked. _That’s..._ a lot of _jerky._

Ouro clutched two tankards and one stained recipe paper in one hand, with all the skill of a monster with a lifetime of serving tables. He sat on a stool that creaked slightly under his weight and set the tankards and recipe down.

"I figure you all are thirsty, too, but I couldn't carry the kegs. I guess you'll have to bring back some soldiers for that,” Ouro said, his voice settling down. “I did fill a few tankards for us, though."

“What’s this stuff?” Gerson asked, inspecting the greenish liquid inside his portion.

“Crab apple cider. It collect the crab apples myself from the stream nearby, and it’s the inn’s specialty---other than jerky. But I should warn you, it’s an acquired---” Gerson choked it down---and his eyes bugged out. “Taste.”

Gerson smacked his lips. “It sure is.”

“Sorry if there are seeds. I made the last batch in a hurry. And, um...sorry for scaring you earlier.” the innkeeper said sheepishly. Gerson shrugged. "Eh. A little caution goes a long way these days."

“A toast,” Ouro said, raising up his mug. “To what?”

Ouro looked firmly at Gerson. “That the humans have had enough dust-shed for a lifetime.” The amphibian’s face started to crumble, but he patched it back up with a big smile. “That, whatever happens...monsters will live in peace.”

“A toast,” Gerson asserted. “To the brawn and brains of monsterkind’s hungry soldiers!”

The innkeeper slowly tipped the tankard to his lips.

His gills flicked up. “Human.”

Something trembled---no, wavered, no, _moved_ \---inside Gerson’s SOUL. A human. A human coming----

“Hide!” the innkeeper hissed.

“Where?” The inn’s interior. Too open. Too exposed.

“Fireplace!” the innkeeper shoved Gerson forward. The turtle soldier slipped into the ashes before he even registered the act. He scrunched up his eyes against the cold ashes.

The human moved quietly----must be lightly armored, with fine shoes.

Light, rapid footsteps on the inn’s wooden floors, and then----

“W-want some jerky?” the innkeeper said.

_What the----?_

“That’s a mighty fine eating knife. Looks like you’re the kind of person who loves chewy meat.” An awkward pause stretched after the innkeeper’s words. _The human...must_ _be wielding_ _a knife. Or a dagger_. Gerson thought. _He’s_ warning _me._ “Yes, I know humans carry about knives for eating. My inn’s had human patrons, after all.”

With that kind of voice, with his eyes facing away...Gerson couldn’t tell if the human was male or female. But it didn’t matter. They killed monsters just the same.

 _Ouro’s standing right_ there. _But why_ _isn’t the human_ _attacking_?

"What's that?" the human said, like a command.

Gerson stiffened.

“A novelty log holder,” Ouro said smoothly. “I purchased it on a whim when I was younger and more...prosperous.”

The silence stretched on. Gerson’s skin prickled, as if he was being watched. He fought the urge to shudder.

“How much?” _What?!_ Gerson thought.

“Two silver each.” the innkeeper replied.

_Each…?_

With a faint clink, the human handed over two silver coins. Gerson heard the innkeeper’s pack rustling as he fished out something---probably a piece of jerky. But he didn’t hear eating noises.

 _Did they believe_ _that lie_? _That I’m just a ‘novelty log holder’?_ Gerson thought.

“Another.” the human said.

“Oh, sure,” the innkeeper replied, with more rustling.

“Another.” the human said flatly.

“A jerky lover, I see.” More rustling.

“Another.” “Another.” “Another.” _Another_...

“You would have loved this place at its p-peak,” Ouro said.“L-lots of jerky lovers. Lots of humans with n-nice eating knives, just like you.” A lot more rustling----he must be lifting out a big mound of jerky.

A pause. The impatient tap of fingers on the table, and the faint sound of more jerky being set on the table, of the innkeeper scrabbling on the table’s wood surface.

“I-it’s n-nice to see there are still h-humans who love p-patronizing monster businesses,” Ouro said. “B-because...it’s just that _good_. They’re s-sure worth...k-keeping around.”

Gerson grimaced. _How did the human get so much money?!_

“I’m...I’m fresh out. B-but if you come back later, I’ll….”

A muffled grunt split the air. The human exhaled---and sounded _disappointed._

Gerson scrunched up his eyes harder. _Can..._ _can_ _anyone hear me? If there’s someone out there...please help._

The innkeeper started panting. “I-I c-can sell you more---”

The human snorted dismissively---and hit again. There was another muffled grunt.

He heard it loudly in his mind..o _nly attack if you outnumber a human three to one._

The clink of coins falling off the table.

 _You useless Prince Fluffybuns! Get over here!_ Gerson shouted in his mind.

The scud of boots steadying themselves on piles of silver coins.

_Only attack if you outnumber a human three to one._

The faint sound of piles of jerky falling to the floor.

 _Harrold, I know you’re a cowardly bunny, but I need you!_ Gerson pleaded in his mind.

A huge _whump_ as a body hit the floor.

 _Anyone! Please help!_ Gerson begged in his mind.

A crackle as weight pressed down on...on something.

_Only attack if you outnumber a human three to one. If you don’t…._

“You want mercy, monster?” the human stated quietly.

 _If you don’t….you’re_ dust.

The sudden _crack_ , like hot stones splintering.

_Sssshooow._

Gerson didn’t hear if the human what the human said next. But it didn’t matter. He heard the faint clank of an eating knife (or dagger) getting tucked into its sheath, the clink of many, many coins, and the rustle of dozens of monsters’ worth of jerky.

And, finally, the sound of the human’s footsteps faded away.

Gerson rubbed the ashes away from his face and did not even look at his hands. The sun was setting now. It was starting...to get dark. Darker. Yet darker.

The inn had real monster dust now: coarse like ashes. It smelled like rain upon the earth...but slightly decayed. And the innkeeper’s clothes laid there, like the stabbed-through merchant’s, like...so many others.

 _He never said anything. Never revealed_ _me_ _. Never cried out._ The thoughts ran through the turtle’s mind.

His eyes...dry. His throat...dry. His mind...still as the forest ouside. But not relaxed. _I_ _f only he cried out..._ _if only he stopped trying to muffle his pain...I’d save him on reflex._

_And die._

Gerson took a stiff drink of the sour crab apple cider and quaffed it down, his throat fluttering.

Feet turned around. An idle hand grasped the recipe on the cracked-apart table. And the door was sealed, leaving the newly-made tomb in its darkness. ****

**\--------**

The human child was pointing an odd weapon at him. Trying to _threaten_ him. What a figure they made, hands just _coated_ in monster dust.

“Try it, kiddo! I know you can’t here.” _I may not know_ why. _But I don’t need to._

The human looked at the old shopkeeper for a moment. Their fingers twitched. And they...stopped. Their hard eyes grew puzzled. Their jovial, not-quite-right smile became an outright frown.

“Eh? Fight you?” Gerson looked aside. “Nah, I'm not a hero.”

He stared straight at the human’s determined brown eyes. “But I know there's someone out there...someone who'll never give up trying to do the right thing, no matter what.”

Someone bright and brave and strong. Someone who carried the burden of everyone’s hopes and dreams, and became all the stronger. Someone who had the strength to be the hero...he never could be.

“Someone...who will strike you down.”

And, finally, the sound of the human’s footsteps faded away.

Gerson unhooked the shop’s landline phone. He still looked at the doorway as it rang.

“Undyne. The human just passed by my shop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The innkeeper's name was suggested by [DistanceSeventeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distanceseventeen/pseuds/distanceseventeen).
> 
> The clothes belonged to a character who made an appearance in "[Merchant of Death"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296765), a side-story in the same continuity. 
> 
> This work was inspired by the theme of modern human-monster relations in ["Things Anti-Monster Politicians Could Do"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22175011/chapters/52937284%22)and ["Undertale: The Perils of Being Literally Not Human"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21841891).

**Author's Note:**

> This work was made with the beta-reading help of [Ihasafandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihasafandom/pseuds/Ihasa) and [Batter-Sempai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/batter_sempai/pseuds/batter_sempai).
> 
> Feel free to comment, either here or on the author's[Tumblr](https://argentdandelion.tumblr.com/) blog.


End file.
